


Apologetic

by dayindisguise



Series: Unstable!Eames [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:33:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayindisguise/pseuds/dayindisguise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually the screaming dies down and there’s gentle knocking on the office door, and Arthur can hear the guilt and the exhaustion in Eames’s voice as he apologizes, and he can hear the change in his voice when the tears come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my Unstable!Eames verse, wherein Eames has manic depression. I am not a psychologist or manic depressive, so I can't know how it feels to live with this mental illness. I do not mean any offense by my writing.

Arthur is just sitting in his office with the door shut, his back against it because Eames is having a manic fit, and he’s screaming and he’s angry. Arthur knows Eames would never intentionally hurt him but he’s so tired, he can’t hold Eames down until his anger turns into sadness and guilt, he just has to let him scream it out.

Eventually the screaming dies down and there’s gentle knocking on the office door, and Arthur can hear the guilt and the exhaustion in Eames’s voice as he apologizes, and he can hear the change in his voice when the tears come.

Eames is begging Arthur to come out because he needs him and as soon as Arthur is in reach, Eames is sobbing his apologies into his thighs, stroking one like it’s the most precious thing to him.

Arthur knows he’s sorry, he knows he can’t help it, but Arthur’s falling apart this time too.

He spends the next hour sitting on the floor with Eames, convincing him to come lay down, to close his eyes and try to sleep. It takes another half an hour to get him into their bedroom, but then their legs are tangled and fingers are twined and Arthur is whispering softly in his ear. They’re picturing the perfect house, red brick, somewhere quiet where they don’t need fences, with a wrap-around porch and Eames’ easel perched in the corner, giving him the perfect view of the rolling hills and the far-off forest behind their house.


	2. Thankful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In these moments, Arthur can feel time slow down. He can feel the seconds tick by, and he feels like he’s part of Dali’s The Persistence of Memory, as if his clock will melt off of the wall like Dali’s pocketwatches. As long as Eames is sleeping, the time doesn’t matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of my Unstable!Eames verse, wherein Eames has manic depression. I am not a psychologist or manic depressive, so I can't know how it feels to live with this mental illness. I do not mean any offense by my writing.

Finally, he’s sleeping.

It’s taken three days. Three days of watching him like a parent watches a young child, but finally, Arthur can rest.  
Eames is sleeping peacefully against him, his head supported on Arthur’s arm, one hand curled into his chest while the other is loosely fisted in Arthur’s shirt, keeping him close.

Arthur lies silently with him, skimming his fingers over the man’s side, fingers stepping over his ribs, down to the curve of his hip and back up, tracing the ink in his flesh.

In these moments, Arthur can feel time slow down. He can feel the seconds tick by, and he feels like he’s part of Dali’s The Persistence of Memory, as if his clock will melt off of the wall like Dali’s pocketwatches. As long as Eames is sleeping, the time doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t have to keep track of how long the other man has been awake, if he’s in a down or an up-swing, whether he’s eaten in the past four hours, if he’s hot or cold or thirsty or crying… he’s not screaming, he’s not in pain. He’s sleeping.

Arthur could not be more thankful for this peace and quiet, for the steady rise-fall of Eames’ chest, the fingers loosely knotted in his shirt, the warm body lying close to his own.

He could not be more thankful.


End file.
